Biggest Fan
by PyroLily
Summary: There's a new villain terrorizing Gotham, and its up to Batman and the Joker to stop him. Batman is out to rid the world of a man who could be as dangerous as the Joker himself, while the Joker...well, he just finds him annoying. And kinda creepy.
1. Stranger, and Stranger

Warning: this will eventually be slash, so if you don't like it, you don't have to read it. I own nothing, no matter how much I wish I did, Batman is the property of DC and genius director Christopher Nolan (although he loses some love for thinking Robin's too gay to be in the movies…)

* * *

It wasn't natural, and it wasn't normal.

Absolutely furious with himself, the Joker sat sulking on the roof of one of Gotham's larger department stores. This, in itself, was ridiculous. Criminal masterminds did not _sulk_, especially not one floor up from the women's lingerie department. And criminal masterminds never, _ever_ got stupid little crushes on the superheroes whose city they were trying to masterfully criminalize. The joker ran one hand through his curly green-blonde hair. This was absurd. Well, he wasn't going to dwell on it anymore. Consider that train of thought royally crashed. Run completely off the tracks – no, more than that! Run off the tracks with a bomb strapped under every other car, every drink poisoned, every piece of crockery in the dining car shattered…

The Joker groaned. He was still dwelling.

It was all that one stupid henchman's fault, he decided. That's what he got for hiring bozos like that in the first place…he was going to have to be even more choosy from now on.

The day had started out completely innocent, a nice stormy, gloomy day, full of potential for mayhem. He'd been discussing his latest plan to draw out the Batman (this one involved rigging a nearby amusement park) when, to his complete shock, some complete jackass in a clown mask grumbled something about them always doing the same thing. What could the Joker say? He loved bombs.

Thinking that matter was settled, the Joker had made to move on, only to be interrupted a _second _time. "It's not the bombs, boss," said the henchman, clearing his throat nervously. "It's Batman. Why always him?" The Joker froze, for one millisecond actually lost for words. "We should try some new targets, boss. Remember that one time we went after the mob? That was fun…"

The Joker made a hissing sound through his teeth, hoping he sounded more like an angry cat as opposed to a deflating tire. "Because," he said, carefully containing his anger. "The Batman is what stands between us and complete chaos. Besides, he's the only person left who's any, uh, fun to play with." The Joker grinned widely, his scars warping his smile into something more twisted. "Torturing him is the highlight of my day."

"That or the fact you're completely in love with the guy," muttered the henchman. It was that particular henchman's bad luck that the Joker had chosen to address them in the middle of breakfast. His fork went sailing through the air with deadly accuracy, burying itself in the unfortunate man's eye. He gave a gurgling scream and collapsed on the ground. The Joker had given the rest of his men a warning smile (on him, scarier than any glare) and stalked away.

The worst part, he reflected, many hours later, had been the tiny shred of truth that he'd seen in the man's words. Not that he was in love with Batman – good God no! But his obsessiveness might (to others' eyes of course, _he _knew better) look a bit like a… like a crush! The thought alone was enough to make him want to strap a bomb to a box of kittens and chuck it into a crowded street. And so he'd retired to the top of the department store to brood.

But brooding, the Joker soon realized, was no fun at all. If anything, it only made things worse.

And then there was the other problem.

The fact that Batman had all but disappeared.

Sure, he was everywhere you looked, with **GOTHAM'S MOST WANTED CRIMINAL **typed in bold under his face. It was nice to see people setting the dogs on the hero fro a change – maybe all this would force Batman to see just how alike they really were…

And they were alike.

The Joker knew it.

That's what made torturing Batman so much… fun.

Didn't Batman like stopping the Joker too? If so, then where was he? There was only one answer – the Joker would have to pull an even _bigger_ heist, something so depraved Batman would have to show himself.

What to do, what to do… the Joker frowned, one knee drawn up to his chest, the other leg dangling off the edge of the building as he mused. He'd already blown up a hospital, did the whole Harvey Dent thing, _almost _killed Commissioner Gordon… not to mention the whole deal with the trial. That was, if he did say so himself, a brilliant piece of depravity. Just last week he'd freed all the animals from the Gotham zoo, which had been fun and deliciously destructive. Still, thought the Joker wistfully, he was really more of a people person at heart. This new plan – whatever it would be – would have to involve the sophisticated brilliance that only came from dealing with good old Homo Sapiens Sapiens.

The Joker climbed back to his feet with cat-like grace. Whatever the solution was, it wasn't going to come to him here. The atmosphere on the building was stifling, managing to dampen even his perennial good mood. He sighed, twisted smile as wide as ever, and stretched. It had been a long night. And it was sure to be a long day – the smile grew wider, more warped – a long, _fun _day.

He spread his arms wide, throwing back his head and laughing as he looked down at the dark spread of Gotham. Such a ripe city. And it was his – all his. _Yum._

There was a sudden, quiet sound behind him.

The Joker whirled around, to see a dark figure no less then three feet away. Batman? – No. Too short. And, quite obviously, not dressed as a bat. So who? The stranger stood motionless, hands clasped behind his back. He wasn't very tall, maybe five foot eight, and dressed in a black suit that looked at least two sizes two large. A broad brimmed black hat was pulled down low over his eyes, shielding most of his face. The only things visible were the man's thin lips, which had been painted a bright, disturbing shade of red.

"Uh…" the Joker grinned wider. "Well, who might you be?" he asked, folding his arms.

The other man remained silent, only smiling politely.

The Joker took a small step forward. The other man didn't move. "Kind of quiet one, are we?" he asked. "I think I like you."

The other man's smile widened. It was a weird smile, the Joker reflected briefly. The kind of smile of Venus Fly Trap might have – if Venus Fly Traps had mouths. "That's good," he said. His voice was soft and strangely effeminate.

"Well, uh, I'd love to stop and chat, but I have things to do, ya know," said the Joker, breaking the silence that followed. "People to kill, stuff to, ah, _explode_."

"I don't think you should go just yet," said the man quietly.

The Joker laughed incredulously, raising his eyebrows. Automatically his hand went to his knife. Part of him wanted to run the man through, get the conversation over with, but part of him was intrigued. Besides, running him through then and there wouldn't be much fun, would it? He pulled the thin blade from his breast pocket. "Do you know how I got these scars?" he asked, making his tone light-hearted and conversational as he idly ran his fingers over the blade.

The man's smile spread, growing positively angelic. "Yes."

The Joker blinked, finger freezing at the tip of his knife. Well. That was certainly unexpected. He looked more closely at the strange man, cat-like curiosity piqued. "You didn't tell me who you were," he said, trying to catch of glimpse of the other man's face.

"I didn't?" the man asked, his tone unreadable. "Don't you know?"

"Uh, no," smirked the Joker. "That's why I'm _asking, _you see."

The man merely smiled all the wider, his hand moving slowly to his pocket. When he spoke his voice was breathy, light with something the Joker knew well: excitement. "_I'm your biggest fan_."

The nagging little voice in the back of the Joker's head was trying to tell him something was wrong. Unfortunately, he had never made a career of listening to that particular little voice. "Well, uh. Isn't that nice. Look at me, I'm bl – "

He didn't even notice the stun gun until the man whipped it out with sudden, unexpected speed and shot several volts of electricity into his chest. The Joker dropped to his knees, head fuzzy and spinning. He was dimly aware of the cold concrete under his hands, the distant sound of his own laughter, and then he smelled the chloroform and everything turned black.

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_Let me know what you think! Reviews are love. _


	2. Games Begin

Still own nothing! Well, other than this mysterious new villain... at least, i think i own him. I've always wanted to write a torture scene, so be prepared... actually, i've been wanting to write a Joker/ Batman for a while now, ever since i discovered the fandom.

* * *

Ugh. Blackness. A lot of dark – well, _obviously _it was dark, the Joker chided himself – blackness. And then his head hurt. And his chest. The Joker's hand slid up to rest just under his collar bone, feeling the rather large bruise that had formed. Oh right – that was where the bastard had gotten him with a stun gun.

The Joker shook his head, chuckling to himself. _Ow_. His throat felt as if it were filled with needles. Even laughter was proving depressingly painful.

"So you're awake." The breathy voice came from somewhere to his right.

The Joker squinted, trying to see better in the dark.

"Uh, no, I always laugh in my sleep," he said, checking for restraints. Brief inspection made it clear that he was handcuffed by both wrists to the wall just above his head, leaving him in a rather uncomfortable sitting position.

"What do you think of my hospitality?" asked the voice.

"Love it, love it," answered the Joker airily. "Ya know, I haven't had a room this good since I dated a dominatrix. Of course, she did have better lighting."

"Sarcasm?" asked the voice, sounding genuinely disappointed. "Is that any way to behave when I've gone to all this trouble to get you such a nice surprise?"

"Well, gosh," said the Joker. "How'd you know I, uh, _loved _surprises?"

"I know everything about you," whispered the voice. "I'm your – "

"Biggest fan. I know. Ya mentioned it before the whole, uh, thing with the stun gun." The Joker clicked his tongue. "Not ver-ry nice."

"You wouldn't have come with me otherwise," said the voice. "I had to use the stun gun. But you're not hurt."

"No," agreed the Joker. "Now, uh, what's this surprise?"

"Don't you want to guess?" asked the voice.

"All right," said the Joker, pretending to think. "I love guessing games."

"I know you do."

"And I know you know I do. Are ya gonna let me guess or not?"

"Go ahead," said the voice. The Joker could hear the smile, even if he couldn't even see the tips of his own fingers.

"Is it… a puppy?" asked the Joker, his mocking grin just as wide as the one worn by his captor.

"Guess again."

"Brooks Brother's latest pinstripe suit?"

"Guess again."

"A batch of… cookies?"

"Guess again."

"Dynamite."

"Guess again."

"Fingernails."

"Guess again."

"Bazookas."

"Guess again."

"Bombs."

"Guess again."

"Uh.. cactuses!"

"Guess again."

"Turtles."

"Guess again."

"A piñata."

No dice.

"A pony?" The Joker's smile now threatened to split his face in half as he continued to guess the first things that came into his head. "Playing cards, vodka, lawnmowers, tinsel…"

"_A bat,_" said the voice.

The Joker blinked. "A bat?" he echoed, momentarily confused. And then he understood. For the first time that night the smile slid completely off his face, replaced by a puzzled frown. "_How_?" he demanded, sitting up taller, straining against his chains. How had this measly, dressed-up wannabe managed to capture the Batman when he, the Joker, had tried so many times and failed?

The lights clicked on. The Joker blinked against the sudden onset of brightness, the room falling into gradual belief. They were in a large storage room, most likely a basement or warehouse of some kind. The slight growth of fungus on the walls led him to believe they were underground. He was in a cell of some kind, shackled to the wall. His captor stood in the middle of the room, dressed exactly as he'd been on the rooftop, his eyes still shaded. And in the cell across from his, suspended by identical chains, was Batman. Unlike the Joker, he hadn't recovered from whatever means their jailer had used to trap him there, and was still unconscious.

Lucky for him, the Joker caught himself thinking bitterly. "How did ya let it happen, Bats?" he whispered disbelievingly. "How did ya let yourself get got by an amateur?" In a way, he felt almost betrayed.

"It was actually pretty easy," said the man modestly. "You could have captured him ages ago yourself, if you'd actually tried."

"Oh, believe me, I tried," hissed the Joker, eyes still fixed on Batman.

"No," said the man," and for the first time he sounded slightly angry. "You let him get away. And he let you get away. You were stuck playing cat and mouse, and soon your whole life became about that silly cat and mouse game. You started to… lose your touch. Whenever you pulled a heist, your heart wasn't in it. I couldn't let that happen to you." He turned to the Joker, his hat falling back so that his face was finally visible for the first time.

A pale, mousy face with sandy blonde bangs and poison green eyes and those thin, ruby lips. A face that absolutely glowed with something almost religious in its fervor. "_I'm going to save you_," he said.

The Joker laughed nervously. "O-kay," he said. "Uh, thanks for the present, and all, but, uh, I don't think I really need _saving_."

"Oh, you do," said the man confidently. The Joker studied him closer. He couldn't be more than a year over twenty.

"How so?" he asked, interested.

"Oh…" the man said. "You'll see. Soon enough." He moved forward, his footsteps impossibly quiet against the ground. The Joker watched with increased wariness as the man's hand slipped again towards his pocket. "I'm going to have to stun you again," he said apologetically. "It's just, I need you to do what I want."

"Heh." The Joker licked his lips nervously, tongue flicking out over the ragged flesh of the scars. "Any chance you'll, uh, just trust me on this?" he asked, deliberately not flinching as the man drew out the stun gun and unlocked the door of his cell.

"Sorry," said the man, and the Joker saw stars.

When his vision cleared again, the Joker was in the same cell as Batman, and the masked man was apparently just beginning to regain consciousness. "Wakey, wakey," the Joker murmured under his breath, wondering what their captor had in store for them.

"Where am I?" Batman whispered, his voice pitched differently than the Joker remembered. He frowned, but then Batman seemed to fully take in the figure in front of him, and he lunged forward against the restraints. "You!" he said, voice back to the familiar deep growl.

The Joker smiled innocently. "Not me this time, Bat Man," he said, making the name sound like an insult. "Uh, I'm in the cell too, see?"

Batman looked around, seeing their jailer for the first time. He looked back and forth from the joker to the man in the hat, apparently (it was hard to tell with the mask) confused. "What's going on?" he demanded harshly.

"That would be telling," said the man amiably. The Joker, who had positioned himself far out of Batman's reach, shrugged.

"Now," said the man, now standing only two feet from the cell. "I'm going to ask you to do something."

The Joker shook his head. "Now, why would I do something just because you asked?"

"Trust me," said the man. "This is something you'll want to do." His eyes flicked to Batman.

"Go on," ordered the Joker, growing impatient.

The man slowly dragged his eyes back to the Joker. "Take off his mask."

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Reviews make me happy!


	3. Getting What You Want

Third Chapter up! Yay! Oddly enough, this story was originally going to be a ridiculous spoof in which Batman and the Joker were kidnapped by Poison Ivy's brother, who I named Poison Elmo... but i decided to attempt to make it slightly more serious, and unfortunately it is impossible to have an even _slightly _angsty story with a villain named Poison Elmo. So I made a new villain! Whether or not i have named him yet, is for me to know... and you to find out...

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"What?"demanded the Joker.

"Take off his mask," repeated the man.

The Joker's head was spinning. Sure, he wanted to see the face under Batman's mask – it was one of his life goals, actually. But he wanted to do it on his terms, without some amateur maniac holding his hand.

"No," he said cheerfully.

The man's eyes widened. He looked both startled and angry. "No?" he echoed.

"No," the Joker said again, leaning nonchalantly back against the wall of the cell. The man's arm shot out again, stun gun in hand, catching him in the side. The Joker slumped over but bounced back up, smile still on his face. The stun gun caught him again, this time in the neck, and he toppled, face-forward, to the floor. The door to the cell swung open and the man stormed in, kneeling beside the Joker's slightly stirring form. He positioned the stun gun tightly between the Joker's shoulder blades. _Bzzt_. Electricity coursed through the Joker's body, shaking him back and forth. After several long seconds his captor pulled back.

The Joker raised his head. Blood dripped in a thin red river from one corner of his mouth. His tongue flicked out and licked the blood off his chin. "I hate to break it to you," he said, panting lightly, 'but I'm not ver-y good at doing what I'm told!" The mocking sing-song echoed off the basement walls.

The man pressed his thin lips tightly together. "You don't think I can make you?" he asked softly.

The Joker shook his head, clicking his tongue sympathetically.

The man stepped delicately over his prone body and walked swiftly to Batman.

"What are you – " The man jammed the stun gun under Batman's neck, pressing the button. Batman groaned, his head flopping forward.

"Shut up," said the man distastefully. His eyes went back to the Joker. "Either you take off his mask," he said softly, "or _I _will."

The Joker froze, words briefly failing him.

"Hurry," the man warned, a smile playing about his lips, as he positioned himself behind Batman. The Joker raised himself up to his elbows. The man reached forward and tucked his fingertips under the edge of Batman's mask.

"I'll do it." The words were out of the Joker's mouth before he could think. He pushed himself up to a seating position and began struggling to strand. Never mind his terms, he was going to be the one to take off the Batman's mask if it killed him. Their captor gave him a pleased smile, and quietly left the cell, resuming his position with intent interest.

The Joker was on his feet now, and advancing slowly towards Batman. Still stunned by the shock their captor had given him, Batman hung limp from his shackles. If there was any time to act it was now. The Joker took a deep breath, reaching for the mask as the other man had done. "Secret's out, Bat Man," he whispered, almost tenderly. "Game Over."

He pulled off the mask.

Tanned skin, a handsome, pointed face, deep brown hair and eyes. The Joker drew back, startled. He knew that face. Not intimately of course, only a dim picture in the back of his brain, someone he'd thought to be of very little consequence.

"Bruce Wayne," the Joker said automatically.

The man raised his head as he heard his name, his dark eyes meeting the Joker's. "Shit," he swore, giving the Joker a glare meant to kill. The Joker found himself backing away hastily. Batman – _Bruce's_ – hands may be tied, but he'd been in enough fights with the man to know that he was equally capable of doing damage with his feet.

Batman was _Bruce Wayne_. So unbelievable, so ridiculous – and yet… it fit. Proportionately, anyway. Now that he thought about it, the billionaire playboy heir of Wayne Enterprises was a perfect physical match for Batman. And that care-naught personality – what a disguise! But which identity was the disguise, the Joker couldn't help but wonder, Bruce or Batman?

He looked again at the man chained next to him, naked face so glaring a contrast to the black costume he still wore. _You're completely in love with the guy._ His henchman's words came back to him. The Joker scowled. Why had he remembered that? He hadn't given that dead bozo the right to invade his thoughts.

"That's enough playing for now," said the man outside the cell, interrupting the Joker's internal monologue. "You've earned a few hours of sleep."

"Didn't we just get up?" complained the Joker, sitting back down. The man was already on his way towards a staircase.

"Don't worry," he said. "You'll have plenty to do soon enough." He reached for the chain that connected to the dusty light fixture.

_Click_.

Darkness.

Not the complete, all-encompassing darkness from before, there was still one dim light left shining. Outside the cell the Joker could make out shapes and shadows, and inside he could still see the distinct silhouette of Bruce Wayne's face.

The Joker fidgeted. On one hand, he could stay silent, try to get some sleep. On the other hand, how much fun would that be? "So…" he said, keeping his tone pleasant and conversational. "_You're _the Bat Man." Bruce Wayne didn't respond, but that was hardly surprising. "I don't believe it."

"How can you not believe it?" Bruce asked, raising his head. "You saw the mask come off, didn't you?" He seemed angry, but more than that, he sounded tired. Like he had given up. The Joker leaned closer, staring at his eyes. Were they the same eyes that he had seen through the mask? He leaned even further toward the other man. Looked like it.

"Do the voice, then," the Joker demanded.

"What do you think I am, a fucking show pony?" Bruce asked, shifting away from the Joker, who grinned. So he was making him uncomfortable. That was always fun.

"Who do _I _think you are?" repeated the Joker. "I think the, uh, question is…who do _you _think you are?" He crossed his legs and leaned forward. Bruce shook his head, looking disgusted. The Joker inched closer. "What, you're not going to talk?"

"Not to you."

"But you just did, Brucey."

Bruce's eyes narrowed and he mumbled something anatomically impossible. The Joker continued to goad him for a few minutes longer, but was unrewarded with any kind of response. Gradually, against his will, he found himself drifting off to sleep. The last thing he saw through rapidly closing eyes was Bruce dangling from the wall, head slumped against his chest, looking utterly defeated.

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Next Chapter will hopefully be longer, and the slash part of my plot will begin to develop. Reviews are received with tears of joy!


	4. Playtime

Chapter Four is done! This chapter was especially hard to write for some reason... It's longer than my previous chapters. And things are finally beginning to heat up! Still don't own the Joker and Batman, more's the pity. (Thank You to Elizabeth Tudor for reminding me that it's DC and not Marvel who makes Batman - this is what I get for watching Spiderman with my little brother before writing a Batman fanfic) Read and enjoy!!!

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Before their jailer returned, Joker was back to harassing Bruce. It wasn't like he had anything else to do.

"Come on. Do the Batman voice."

"I am _not _going to do anything for you."

"Not even for an old friend like me?"

"Stop talking to me."

"I always wondered, what's this… ah, Bat Suit made out of?" He leaned forward to pluck at the Kevlar.

"_Don't touch me,_" Bruce growled, eyes shooting sparks.

The Joker drew back, afraid for a second that Bruce was going to do something drastic. Like bite him.

"You really hate being around me, don't you Brucey?" mused the Joker, settling himself down a safe distance away.

"I hate you more than anyone I've ever met. And I've met most everyone worth hating."

"Why is that?" asked the Joker, running a hand through his hair.

Bruce shook his head. "I wonder," he said, voice dripping with sarcasm.

"Hmm…" the Joker pretended to think. How far could he push Bruce? After all, Bruce was chained up while he was free to move about their cell. "Mayybeee," he said, drawing out the word. "It's be-cause I remind you about all the innocent people that you, uh…" He leered at Bruce. "…Couldn't save?"

The result was more than he'd hoped for. The chained man sprang to life, pulling at his restraints as he roared obscenities at the still-smiling Joker.

"Now," said the Joker, once he'd stopped. "That was more like the Batman voice."

"Fuck. You," said Bruce loudly and clearly, in his regular voice.

"We're sensitive about that, aren't we?" continued the Joker, ignoring him. "Brucey's got himself a little complex. Is this where the whole Bat Man thing comes from? Dressing up in your little costume and, uh, saving people? Are you trying to, uh, _compensate _for something? You got somebody tucked away in your past that you, well…_couldn't _save?"

Bruce's head shot up, and the Joker saw a white hot flash of something beyond anger, something like pure, unadulterated hatred. The Joker blinked, a little shaken. Batman didn't just despise him along with the rest of Gotham's petty criminals – he _loathed _him. Well, that was what he wanted, wasn't it? Not to lumped in with all the rest? … wasn't it?

As quickly as it had come Bruce's momentary rage was gone, and he looked more hollow than ever. A sad shell of Batman, Gotham's dark angel, and a cheap imitation of Bruce Wayne, playboy and socialite. It was as if all the fight had gone out of him. The Joker frowned to himself. For some reason, he wasn't feeling the satisfaction he had expected. His nemesis was dangling there in front of him, helpless and beaten. Where was the joy in winning? In fact, if anything, he felt a little sad.

"Good morning," lilted the voice of their jailer as he stepped into the room. The Joker looked over. He hadn't heard him enter. Bruce didn't move. "Slept well?"

"I'll just, ah, take your word that it _is _morning," said the Joker. "And yes – _like a baby_."

"That's good," the other man said absent-mindedly, striding towards the cell and resuming his position two feet from the bars. "Because today we're going to have a lot of fun."

"Well, gee," chirped the Joker. "I can hardly wait."

The man smiled his eerie, soft smile. "You know what I love, more than anything else in the world?"

"… Christmas?"

A slight shake of the man's head. "_Torture_."

"Torture!" repeated the Joker, all bounce and enthusiasm. "Well, what do ya know – me too. Love everything about it – causing torture, _being _tortured, watching other people get tortured…"

"That's convenient," said the man. He walked toward the cell and began opening the door.

The Joker drew back. "You're, uh, not gonna stun me with that thing again, are ya?" he asked nervously.

"Bruce will be going first today," said the man quietly. He pulled out the stun gun. "But yes, I am going to have to stun you again. I can't risk you keeping me from taking him."

The Joker was genuinely confused. "Now why would I do a thing like tha – aah!" The man had shocked him as he walked by. _Damn it_, thought the Joker from his new vantage point on the concrete floor. That whole stun-gun thing was getting old. Bruce was also stunned, his shackles quickly removed and dragged out of the cell, the door swinging shut behind him.

The Joker, as his limbs began to slowly regain feeling, crawled over to the bars and watched with mild interest as Bruce was strapped into a tall metal chair, wrapped with multicolored wires. The man busied himself attaching said wires to points of flesh, an action that required him to strip Bruce of the top half of his suit. The man stepped back to survey his handiwork. Bruce groaned, the effects of being shocked beginning to wear off.

"Do you know why I chose you to go first?" asked the man, his face impassive.

"Because I'm better looking?" asked Bruce, coughing.

The Joker caught himself smiling. Who would have guessed Batman would have a sense of humor?

"Because I'm only practicing on you," the man said, his tone cruel. "You're going first because you're worth less. If I damage you, then I've lost nothing."

Wow, thought the Joker. That was cold. A man after his own heart. Except… Batman was _his _to abuse. The thought of someone else torturing Bruce didn't give him warm fuzzy feelings inside.

"Now," said the man. "Tell me about yourself."

Bruce said nothing, but their was a stubborn look in his eyes.

The man sighed, pulled a small device out of his pocket and pressed a button. Bruce screamed, his head jerking backwards as a sudden surge of electricity coursed through his body.

"What _is _it with you and electricity?" asked the Joker, before he could help himself.

But their jailer had his attention fixed completely on Bruce. "Tell me about yourself," he said again.

No response. Another shock, this one at a higher voltage. Bruce's body twisted, arcing against the restraints as sparks danced off his torso.

"Let's start with your name."

"Bruce," Bruce answered. He didn't appear to see any danger in that question. "Bruce Wayne."

"Is that your only name?"

"Yes."

Another shock.

"Is that your only name?"

"YES!!"

"Who are you?"

"Bruce – fucking – Wayne!" Bruce gasped, screaming again as he was hit with another shock. The man waited patiently for the screaming to subside.

"You like your secrets, don't you Bruce?" asked the man conversationally. Bruce was breathing heavily, and his eyes kept flickering shut.

He didn't answer.

"But I did some research while you were sleeping, Bruce, research on you. And do you know what I found out?"

Still no answer.

The Joker found himself wondering if he had bitten off his tongue. The thought made him irrationally angry. A tongue-less Batman wouldn't be half as enjoyable to play with. This guy was taking away all his fun.

"You're boring, Bruce. Nothing interesting about you. You're…gray. Gray like this city." More heavy breathing. "But I found out something else, Bruce. I know why you play Batman. I know what started it all." He leaned forward, his lips almost touching Bruce's ear, and whispered so quietly that the Joker couldn't hear: "_I know about your parents_."

"Shut _UP_!!" screamed Bruce, springing back to life. The Joker relaxed. Still had his tongue, then. But, what had their jailer said to Bruce? The man stepped back, pressing the button one final time. Bruce's scream was silent this time, the tendons on his neck standing out like wire cables. He collapsed like a sack of flour, the restraints on his chair the only things holding him up. "Shut up…" he mumbled. "Psycho bastard…"

"Have you had enough?" asked the man. Bruce continued to mumble incoherently. "Answer me. Have you had enough?" More mumbling. "I suppose that's a no, then." He reached once more for the button.

"Stop!" The Joker sprang to his feet. He had enough. "The Bat Man is mine to play with, you hear me? _Mine_. I'm the one who gets to torture him." He folded his arms across his chest, glaring angrily at the other man.

Their jailer frowned very slightly. "Yours to torture?" he repeated.

"Uh… _yes_," said the Joker firmly.

"Fine," said their jailer, a little louder, a maniacal glint appearing in his eyes. "I know how you can torture him." He walked quickly to Bruce, releasing him from the restraints. Without them, Bruce fell limply to the floor. He tried to raise himself back up to a seating position, but collapsed. Their jailer jerked him back to his feet, marched him back to the cell, the threw him in. He skidded face-first across the unforgiving concrete floor and came to a stop, not moving, barely a foot from he Joker.

The Joker eyed his body warily. "Are ya sure that more torture's the best thing for him now?" He reached over and poked Bruce lightly. "He looks kind of, uh, used up. Doesn't look like he'd be much fun."

"Fun," repeated the man tonelessly. "Is that really what you care about?"

"Uh, yeah," said the Joker.

"I need to make sure."

"What else would I care about?" asked the Joker, annoyed.

The man looked pointedly at the body beside him. "Him."

The Joker's eyes darted to Bruce. A nervous laugh escaped his lips. "So…" he said. "What are ya gonna try and make me do?"

"You are going," said the man, "to kiss him."

The Joker found himself staring at the man in utter confusion for the second time. "Uh….what?" he asked, sure he had misheard.

Bruce raised his head an inch off the ground. "_What_?" he demanded.

"It's simple," said the man calmly. "He hates you more than anything else on earth. That's the worst torture you could possibly impose on him."

The Joker's eyes darted the Bruce. It made a sort of twisted sense, he supposed. But still. "No, I don't think I will," he said.

"Do it," said the man, his tone more forceful. "Why wouldn't you?" The Joker opened his mouth to reply, and froze, searching for a response. He found none.

"This is crazy," said Bruce, having raised himself up to a half-sitting position. "You're fucking crazy."

The man pulled the device he'd used to shock Bruce back out of his pocket, and twisted another lever. There was an ominous creaking noise. The Joker's eyes darted around. Their cell was beginning to retract in upon itself, growing smaller. "You had better do what I say," he said, his eyes boring into the Joker's. "The consequences otherwise might not be … favorable. Besides… don't you want to torture this 'Batman' any way you can? Prove to me that you're still the Joker."

"I, uh, don't think I need to prove anything," said the Joker, but he lacked his usual conviction.

"Prove you haven't gone soft." The cell was growing smaller by the second, pushing him and Bruce closer together. It was barely five feet by five feet now, their knees touching as the cage continued to shrink. "Do it or I'll crush you both." Again, the Joker didn't see another option. He caught himself about to apologize to the man before him, stopped, summoned up his customary crazy smile and let the moving walls of the cell push him onto Bruce.

He closed his eyes and crushed their lips together. Bruce made a sound of protest, but the Joker reached out and grabbed the bars on either side of Bruce's head, pushing Bruce back against the cell wall. The cage had shrunk so much that they were pressed together, the Joker's chest flat against Bruce's, his knees tucked between Bruce's legs. He could feel the bars of the opposite wall on his back. It was, reflected the Joker, more of an act of violence than a kiss. He felt anger, both towards Batman and the man was making him do this, and … something else. It was the something else that made him pull back, first biting Bruce's lip until he could taste the other man's blood.

Their faces remained inches apart, Bruce's eyes narrowed in hate. The Joker couldn't even begin to imagine what his own eyes looked like. "Bastard," hissed Bruce. Not me, the Joker caught himself thinking. He turned his head and looked at their jailer. Him.

"Very good," said the man, his tone approving.

The Joker wanted more than anything to wipe that smirk off his face. Maybe with sandpaper. Or he could blow his whole face off, that could be fun too.

The man turned on his heels and began walking back toward the stairs.

"Wait," called Bruce. "Are you going to leave us like this?" Their was a note of panic with his voice that the Joker, for the first time in his adult life, could almost sympathize with.

The man turned again to look at them, still crushed together by the walls of their cell. He smiled. Then he turned and left, flicking off the light on his way out.

* * *

Next Chapter we get a brief glimpse of the outside world, and our two heroes... anti-heroes... _men _begin the initial stages of escape-plotting. Reveiws and feedback appreciated!


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